Samantha James (24 page)

“Oh, I’ll tell you, sweet. But I’ve no doubt you won’t like what you hear. I think both are an excuse…an excuse to hide from yourself—and your feelings about me.”

“My feelings? You delude yourself,” she said flatly. “My feelings in no way resemble that of a wife toward her future husband.”

“Indeed.” His tone grew soft. “Your lips say
no, Heather. But your eyes…I see something else entirely in your eyes.”

Heather quivered. Was she truly so transparent, then?

“You are a lovely, desirable woman, Heather. Yet you refuse to see it….”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to, so much it hurt inside. But there was so much to lose—
too
much.

“It’s not wrong to want someone, Heather. To need someone….”

But it was wrong to love him. Wrong to love someone who would never love her in return….

He ran a finger down the fragile curve of her jaw. He smiled. She could see that he thought he’d won. His voice turned cajoling. “I’m not asking for an answer now—”

“Well, I’m giving you one. I will not marry you, Damien. I don’t even want to see you again.”

Those words hung between them endlessly.

He clenched his jaw tight. “But you want to find your father—you want to see James Elliot, don’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes. The rogue! Would he blackmail her? “You know I do,” she snapped.

His smile was a travesty. “Then I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to tolerate me a while longer, Heather.”

Heather glared at him as he proceeded to saunter away. By Jove, she thought furiously, he wouldn’t get away with it. If necessary, she would hire her own investigator…

The thought progressed no further.

From out of nowhere came a loud popping sound. An acrid odor reached her nostrils, like something burning. She glanced down and saw the shoulder of her gown fluttering in the breeze. Her skin gleamed pale in the sunlight. There was a faint buzzing in her ears; it was growing louder. Her vision swam mistily. She blinked, reaching out a fingertip to touch a dark blotch on her outer arm.

It came away streaked with blood.

Her stomach lurched. She didn’t black out, though she thought she might. Her arm had begun to sting mightily. Blackness rimmed her vision. As if in slow motion, she felt herself turn. The next thing she knew she was hurtling through the air. She landed on her back with a dull thud. Her head cracked against the ground. A kaleidoscope of lights and colors danced behind her eyelids.

“Heather,” a familiar masculine voice yelled into her ear. “Heather, are you all right?”

There was a massive weight atop her chest. Stunned, she found herself staring into Damien’s grim-faced visage. The frantic fear on his face sent terror winging through her anew. “I’ve been shot,” she said shakily. “Damien, I’ve been shot!”

His fingers were already tearing at her sleeve. “It looks like it’s gone completely through, thank God,” he muttered. “But it’s bleeding like the
devil.” His face intent, he whipped out a handkerchief and tied it above the wound, so tightly she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

His eyes flashed up to hers. “I’m sorry, sweet,” he muttered. “But the bleeding must be stopped.”

Heather was trembling from head to toe. “Who would do this? Who?”

Damien scarcely heard. He wanted to leap up and search out the fiend, but he was afraid to leave her alone. His expression angrily intent, Damien scanned the endless maze of greenery. A vile curse hovered on his lips, for he could see no sign of the perpetrator. Before long, a bird began trilling a warbly tune. It was almost as if it had never happened.

But there was someone out there. Someone who waited…and watched….

He gave no answer but lowered his mouth to her ear. “Be still,” he warned, the words no more than a breath, “for I’ll not risk making you a target again. We must wait here and stay low. When it’s safe, we’ll crawl back inside.”

Heather nodded and ducked her head into his shoulder. Her fingers crept up to tangle in the front of his jacket. He was right. All they could do was wait.

A slow curl of smoke drifted lazily upward. From beneath the limbs of a drooping willow, ebony eyes watched…and waited.

He’d caught a glimpse of her as she’d left Tremayne’s house last eve. Jack Scavenger had
been right—it was her. There was no mistaking that rich wealth of hair or those wide, thick-lashed eyes. But James Elliot was not a man to see beauty…he saw only opportunity.

All these years he’d thought the brat was probably dead, yet she was alive and living a life of comfort and affluence with the Earl of Stonehurst. At first he’d been furious, for
he
had been rotting away in a filthy cell in Newgate. The very idea made his every muscle vibrate with rage.

But his inquiries about her had yielded a bounty he’d not expected. It seemed she’d never married. Little wonder, he snorted, for who would want a cripple such as she? He’d thought she still made her home with the earl, but indeed it was not so…

On the occasion of her twenty-first birthday, Stonehurst had gifted her with lands of her own—lands that, from all accounts, were worth a pretty penny indeed….

The idea had come to him suddenly, in the dead of night. If he found the jewel case, so much the better. But if he didn’t, he had something far better. A daughter…a daughter whose wealth far exceeded his wildest dreams.

Stonehurst had been generous with her. Perhaps it was time the little bitch was generous with her father….

It had seemed so easy, so much easier than searching for that blasted jewel case. But now he’d failed, and he cursed roundly—he’d only wounded her. The stub of his thumb curled
around the butt of the pistol. He slapped it against his palm. Why was it the bitch would not die? he raved. If only that bastard Tremayne hadn’t shown up….

His dark head came up in a flash. That was it! Perhaps this was a blessing after all. A crafty smile curled his lips. Perhaps this was not the right time for Heather to leave this earth….

Aye, he thought. There was a better way…a way he could have both the jewel case
and
his daughter’s wealth.

He threw back his head and chortled at his genius.

It wasn’t long before darkness fell, and Heather and Damien were able to creep inside. In her room, he gently wiped away the blackened gunpowder and blood. A sigh of profound relief escaped as he examined her. Though the wound had bled profusely, it was not nearly as deep as he had feared. He cleansed it and sprinkled a healing powder over the reddened flesh, then bound it with strips of clean, white cloth.

A heavy cloak of silence hung in the room while he worked. But though his lips were quiet, his mind was not.

Who had done this? Who would try to kill her? The shot had not been meant for him—of that he was certain. He had left her alone when the shot rang out….

All at once his blood ran cold.

A sickly coil of dread tightened deep within him. Dear God…Cameron had been right. James Elliot might very well come to Heather.
But not for the reason Cameron thought—not because he longed to reunite with the daughter he’d not seen in twenty years.

But because she was rich.

Self-loathing poured through him like boiling oil. This was his fault. He had involved her in his plan to locate James Elliot, and now her very life might well be at risk.

He prayed she would forgive him. That God would forgive him. Because if anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

So deep in thought was he that it gave him a start to see Heather’s gaze fixed widely on his face. “What are you thinking?” she murmured.

He gave a terse shake of his head. “Nothing.”

Her eyes were cloudy. “Damien, tell me. There have been too many lies already.”

“Heather…” His soul was in turmoil. His hand hovered near her shoulder. He was unsure whether to touch her—whether she wanted him to.

He dropped his arm to his side. “I should never have come to Lockhaven,” he said heavily. “I should never have involved you in this whole scheme to find my brother’s murderer.”

She made no response. Instead she searched his face as if to plumb the very depths of his being. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

His silence terrified her as nothing else. All at once a numbing cold seeped into her breast.

“Dear God,” she said faintly. “You think it’s he, don’t you? You think my father…”

His silence declared his answer.

Heather’s jaw didn’t want to work properly. “But why? Why would he want to shoot me…his own daughter?”

“It’s just a guess, Heather. Of course I can’t be certain it was he—”

A shudder tore through her. “It is. I—I can feel it.” She clutched at his sleeve. “But I—I don’t understand why. What possible reason could he have for…” She stopped, unable to voice the thought aloud.

“A very good one,” Damien said very quietly. “Money.” When she frowned, he went on. “Miles told me once that Lockhaven was deeded solely to you.”

Her eyes were huge on his face. “It is,” she whispered.

“And what if James Elliot found out you have an estate in Lancashire—a very profitable estate?” He fell quiet for a moment. “He is your only living relative, Heather. With you gone, he could try to claim Lockhaven for himself.”

Heather blanched. Unknowingly she flung out a hand. Damien captured it between his own; it was ice-cold.

“Listen to me, Heather.” He turned her toward him. A finger beneath her chin, he demanded she look at him. “It’s not safe here. I want you to come home with me tonight.”

Heather nodded, too shaken to argue.

Several hours later she was installed in a guest room on the third floor of Damien’s home. She waited for sleep to come, but the silence raked at her nerves. She lay there in the night-drenched stillness, her emotions a seething tangle inside
her. So much had happened. The shock of Damien’s proposal. Then the shot…

The sound of footsteps outside in the corridor made her jump.

The door opened. A sliver of light spread onto the carpet. Heather sat up. “Damien?” she whispered.

He came to stand near the bed. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

She shrugged her shoulders, offering no other reply.

“Are you all right?” The mattress dipped as he sat.

Heather lowered her gaze. “I’m fine,” she murmured.

“Does your arm pain you?”

“A little,” she admitted.

An awkward silence drifted between them. Neither seemed to know what to say.

It was Heather who broke it. “I had a letter from Bridget today,” she murmured.

“How is she?”

“Quite good, actually. She’s begun working at the manor house again.” For the first time that evening, the makings of a smile graced Heather’s lips. “She’s just discovered she’s with child again.”

Damien’s brows shot up. “She and Robert didn’t waste any time, did they?”

“That’s what I thought,” Heather admitted. “But I—I’m very glad for them. I only pray this babe is born fine and healthy.”

The silence was renewed. Only then did Heather wish she’d kept Bridget’s news to her
self, for it was inevitable that they be reminded that she, too, expected a child….

His hand lay very near hers on the counterpane, close to it, but not touching. Then, all at once, he reached for her; he began toying idly with her fingers.

“Why won’t you marry me, Heather?”

The hurt in his tone was almost her undoing. Her heart cried out. Why? he asked. Because she couldn’t allow herself to believe that his offer stemmed from anything more than guilt and responsibility over the fact that she carried his child. And now there was yet another reason.

“If I did, the threat from my father would be gone, wouldn’t it? Lockhaven would not pass to him?”

He seemed reluctant to answer. “Lockhaven would become your husband’s,” he said finally. “But if that’s why you think I want to marry you, you’re mistaken. I’ve no need for land or wealth, Heather.” His gaze burned into hers.

“I—I wasn’t going to say that.”

He sighed heavily. Heather lapsed into silence again. Lowering her head, she shielded her expression from him through the shining curtain of her hair.

He stopped playing with her fingers. “Would marriage to me be such a hardship?”

Her breasts rose and fell quickly with every breath. She wanted to cry that marriage to him would be no hardship at all…if only he loved her as she loved him. Madly. Passionately. Forever. She knew she could settle for no less.

Tearing her eyes from his, she shook her head.
Her control was perilous. She had the awful sensation that if she said a word—if she looked at him again—the tears would start and never stop.

He weaved his fingers through hers and let them rest against the hollow of her belly, there where their child dwelled. The gesture moved her as nothing else could have. But she was still so afraid….

The pitch of his voice was very low. “I’d be a good husband, Heather. You’d want for nothing, I swear. You—you should not be alone at such a time.” There was a note in his voice she’d never before heard. “I’d be a good father. I’d love this child, and any others we might have.”

And what about me
, she wanted to cry. Was it selfish to want to be loved by him? Raw pain stabbed in her breast. She didn’t want the quiet affection so many husbands had for their wives, solely because they were the mothers of their children. It wouldn’t be enough…it would
never
be enough.

She wanted to be loved for herself…all the love he had to give…and more.

Yet his quiet intensity made her tremble inside. Slowly she raised her head. The silvery trickle of moonlight through the draperies etched his strong profile in an ethereal hue. She ached with the need to reach out, to feel his presence, trace the jutting blade of his nose, the squareness of his jaw, the beautiful, masculine shape of his mouth.

She spoke haltingly. “I don’t know, Damien. I need…time. Time to think on this…”

He withdrew his hand. In an instant he was on his feet. He gave her a low bow, his tone coldly formal. “I’ll say good night, then.”

He didn’t offer to stay. She didn’t ask. It was almost as if they were strangers.

She watched as he closed the door, stung by the oddest sensation that she’d wounded him. But such was not possible. He offered his honor and his name…

But never his heart.

A dry sob escaped her as she lay back on the pillow. Only then did she let loose the flood of tears dammed in her breast.

She saw little of Damien the next day. The maid who helped her with her morning bath relayed the message that the master had asked that she remain indoors today.

Heather was not inclined to argue. Her shoulder ached, and she was nervous and jittery. A cold shiver rushed through her whenever she thought of her close call the previous day. And there was a peculiar hum in the air, a sense of sizzling expectancy that she couldn’t shake no matter how she tried.

It was midafternoon when she heard the front door open. Heather stood near the grand staircase. Her gaze swung around and fell upon Damien. He spared no greeting but beckoned her forward. Wordlessly she followed him into his study.

“I’ve just made arrangements for you to return to Lockhaven.” He spoke the instant the doors were shut.

Heather’s spine went stiff. “Indeed,” she said coolly. “On whose authority, I wonder.”

His mood was not easy. A storm already brewed in those clear gray eyes. “You’re not the sort to throw tantrums,” he said curtly. “I pray you won’t start now.” He began to pace back and forth.

But her temper was crackling. “And have I no choice in the matter?”

“Dammit, Heather, do not argue!” He spun around, looking as if he might explode. “It’s too dangerous for you to remain in London. I want you out of harm’s way.”

“And what about what I want? I think this is a decision that belongs in my hands, not yours!” She tipped her chin up defiantly. “And I say I will stay in London.”

His hands clamped down on her shoulders. “Do you forget so soon, Heather? You’ve another life inside you to think of.”

Though she was secretly stung by the bite in his tone, there was a note of truth in what he said. She could take no chances with the life of her unborn child. Shoulders sagging, she nodded miserably.